


Call to Chimera

by PinkAries



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Family, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, I'm probably sorry, Pain and confusion, Post-Canon, Psychological, Stalking, Violence, hostage, let me think about it, lots of pain in the beginning, organ harvesting, psycho parent, terrible mother, writing as if this were an arc in the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAries/pseuds/PinkAries
Summary: When a string of good fairy slaughter unearths a trail of monsters with their organs harvested, this questionable case littered with Enochian magic somehow backs a grand scheme to creating a powerful chimera. The purpose is unknown, with the angel race near extinct, until the Wayward Four, finding the experiment in question, are left speechless upon discovery: a human girl rendered horrific experiment. The girl, Faeriel, is taken in to their protection, but little would they know one hunt would turn a simple rescue mission into a whole new can of problems left open by Fae's deceased mother--as well as the trouble of raising a clueless teenage girl.Story follows Dean, Sam, Cas and Jack on a new adventure involving one new ally and new villains/conflicts. A continuation after the Michael arc with a lot of angst, adventure and family fluff. This is a plot I've had in mind for months, so I hope you all enjoy this conjured universe ♡





	1. Wings, Sings, and Other Bloody Things

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally caught up with Supernatural, and I've had this idea working in my brain for a while. I like to imagine new plots for pre-existing series, so I hope many of you will be amused by the ride, as I'm already attached to these made up characters that aren't even canon, oops.
> 
>  
> 
> Please enjoy ♡

The burn was seering, almost overwhelming. She felt close to passing out, but pushed on, ignoring how strenuous her footsteps had become, warm droplets leaking from both her eyes and her ankle with iron plunged through her achilles.

Her heavy breaths and whimpers crystalizing into the cold, night breeze, would only be heard by two. The runner and the assailant, whom she was convinced she lost. But she couldn’t stop. There was no telling.

This assailant was cloaked. They couldn’t be heard, couldn’t be smelled or seen--they were seen when they wanted to be, and it was all part of this sick ploy. This dreaded game of cat and mouse.

Her legs, shaking, gave way to the dirt, as she crashed surrounded by forest trees. No. She needed to press on. She needed to return to her homeland, to her brothers, and--

Them. The horrible thing that threw her into pursuit showed itself, approaching quietly, smiling devious. Like this were a normal Tuesday midnight.

It lifted a small bag with a tiny knot, dangling playfully. The girl’s eyes welled with tears; horror.

“No…” she mumbled.

The bag tilted, and every so quietly, like a gentle waterfall, ruthlessly small pieces of sugar poured onto the ground before her. She felt her eyes watch, her heart begin to pump. Her hand was already reaching out, sobbing as she really did fight the urge.

But her nature overcame, and she began counting each piece through sniffling and quaking. Each number leaving her lips in unstable tones. Picking piece-by-piece.

“One… t-two… th… three…” she wept, unable to control herself.

The assailant raised an iron scalpel and knife, knocking her to her face with a heavy stomp. The girl left out a cry, yet found herself continuing where she left off, even with the pressure on her back.

She felt stinging, then burning, then her flesh smoking and tearing and smoldering.

Her wails would go heard only by night’s pure empty.

* * *

 

Jack had been awake all night, finding himself restless as he turned pages--one of many in the Men of Letters’ knowledge compendium. There had been an article he noticed right before bed, something he happened upon while scrolling through current events in different states, trying to find a case. A case he could be trusted hunting on.

And Jack had expected to find something, but nothing quite so strange.

Another page turn, eyes floating across each printed letter, barely hearing footsteps enter the library.

Sam, steaming mug in hand, glanced at the time on his watch, then brushed crazy, bed-head locks out of his face. It was barely six in the morning.

“You’re up early.”

Jack quietly looked up at Sam, then returned to his book.

“Actually, I haven’t slept.”

After his recent scare with impending death, Sam might have been a tad worried, but he quelled the rising need to feel concern and approached the nephilim. He leaned on a chair across from the couch, where Jack had been planted for hours.

“Something up?”

“Maybe.” Another flip.

“What’s maybe?”

Jack placed a torn piece of notebook paper in the book, setting it aside. “Sam, what’s the difference between a dark fairy and a light fairy?”

This early in the morning, asking questions about living bottles of sparkling OCD and child abduction. Dean and Sam had only dealt with them a couple of times, and there hadn’t been a reason to research them further since.

“I--actually don’t know. Dark fairies are weak to silver… Good fairies look more human. Why, something happen?”

“Yes, well, at least I think so,” Jack pulled an ipad into his lap, popping up on the screen was the article he read probably about four times. He handed stood and passed it to Sam, “take a look at this.”

He scrolled to the top, reading the title and eyebrows furrowing.

“Woman Found Dead, Surrounded In Sugar.”

Sam squinted. Jack retrieved his book.

“She was found face down in Silverton, Oregon. The woods behind St. Amaranth Clinic. She was encircled in scattered sugar, and get this--she had tears in her shoulder blades. Like veins--or bones had been ripped out deep in her back.”

“You think it’s a fairy?”

“Traces of iron was found in her wounds. I’m thinking wings.”

Sam scrolled down the article and shrugged. “Maybe a hunter got em’. Though good fairies typically don’t like killing.”

“Then why would she be hunted?”

“They can be bound by magic. Forced to kill. But ripping out the wings is… a bit weird. Unless they’re trying to conduct a spell and needed fairy wings.”

“She’s not the only one. There are three other similar cases, within this past week.”

Sam looked up as the ipad was taken from him. “What?”

“All surrounded in sugar and salt. All with their wings stripped. If that is what happened.”

Sam nodded, placing his mug down on the table. “So, what? You want to check it out?”

“I’d like to keep hunting. I would’ve picked something nearby, but it’s been pretty quiet, and I wanted to pick something you and Dean would think I could handle. Of course--not alone.”

Sam pondered the possibility. With all of the crazy that had happened, a lot of them, as Dean would put it, needed a win. Though this appeared to be a case that might turn into something more. Or it could have been some fairy obsessed collector that mounted wings as prizes.

“It’s going to take a day’s worth of driving.”

“That’s quite alright.”

Sam rubbed his tired eyes. He couldn’t beat Jack’s smile, brimming with confidence.

“Alright, I’ll run it by Dean and Cas,” Suddenly, his hand was swiping the ipad and book from Jack’s fingertips, “but only if you get some rest, first.”

“I can rest on the ride.”

Already talking like this was absolutely going to happen. Sam couldn't help but chuckle. “Well, at least nap while I go talk to them. We have to wait for Dean to wake up, anyway. I’ll come get you later.”

Jack stopped, then nodded. He left the room to do what he was told. Sam shook his head as he watched, then found himself staring at the textbook of fairy lore and opened news article in his arm. He downed the last of his brewed coffee and slammed it down.

* * *

 

“Who the hell goes around ganking fairies? _Good fairies_?”

“I dunno’, witches? Supernatural black markets…”

“Can’t be one of their own, they’d both be counting til’ sunrise.”

“Dark fairies off. But I looked further into it. Before the fairies were shifters, eyes missing, and a siren with its vocal chords ripped out, all in neighboring states.”

“A _siren_?”

Sam pulled up his his chair beside Dean. “Something is collecting... hunting creatures for game.”

“Doesn’t this sound like some weird Franken Stein crap? Not the family, like the body parts, puttin’ them in jars, yadda yadda.”

“Dunno’, but I think it’s worth looking into.”

Dean looked up from his beer bottle, then placed it down slowly.

“Dean, you need to get out. I know you. After all of this Michael crap… you need a win, right?”

Dean chuckled, “You kickin’ me out?”

“We can all go. You, me, Cas, Jack--going on a hunt.”

“Who’s gonna’ hold down the fort?”

“Ketch?”

“ _Ketch._ ”

“Or Rowena...”

“In a library filled with books about magic--I don’t think so.”

“Ketch it is.”

Dean’s eyes rolled. He found his beer again. “Do you really need me and Cas? I’m sure you and Jack can handle a crazy, paranormal taxidermist.”

“Don’t say that. It’ll make Jack’s day if we’re there. All of us. I wanna’ do this for him. He’s pretty antsy, right now.”

Dean was weighing his options. When Sam brought up Jack, what he was truly saying was ‘do it for Jack,’ and that caught the blonde Winchester. Dean gave a conceding nod, but just as an agreement was acknowledged, Castiel came pacing into the room, phone in hand and ready to sport whatever its screen contained.

“What is it, Cas?” Sam’s eyes followed the lifting screen.

“A witch was just found dead in her home. Place ransacked--drained of all of her blood. Silverton, Oregon.”

The Winchesters rose. Dean turned to Sam.

“Guess we’re waking Jack up.”

His brother nodded. So much for just monster hunting.

* * *

 

Everything had been packed and ready before the quartet hopped in the Impala and off on their long drive to Oregon they went. Winchesters up front, Angels in the back. The drive was split into two days with motel hopping and run-down hidden treasures of burger places in the nooks of small towns. When they finally arrived to Silverton, the next morning, the four were dressed to impress-the-law and set out.

Sam and Dean paced ahead outside of the motel towards the Impala. Sam, going over what they knew of the case.

“Moira Barley, age twenty-eight, one of Silverton’s self-advertised witches that apparently worked in matchmaking, cursing and binding spells...”

“Yeah, what else is new.”

“The supposed fairy is a Jane Doe. Not a trace of who she could be. Maybe she had been summoned straight from Avalon? The other fairy deaths seem to be the same case.”

“Lured out of their kingdom just to be murdered. Someone knows what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, and I don’t get it. First whatever this is starts by collecting organs--very _specific_ organs from supernatural creatures, and now it hunts a human for its blood?”

“It could be like you said,” Cas interjected as he and Jack caught up, “maybe supernatural black market. Restocking their reservoir.”

“And leave this big of a mess behind? Not very professional.” Dean shuffled for the keys in his pockets. “Alright, Cas, you and Sam check out the morgue on Moira and Doe, I’ll take Jack to the crime scene and we’ll see what we get. Call us if you find anything.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.” Cas stated as he and Sam glanced at each other, then walked off.

All parted for their respective roles to play.

* * *

 

The crime scene was in an middle-class, rural side of Marion County, yellow tape and cop cars surrounding a white, one story home. Dean and Jack got out of the car, walking right onto the forbidden property with badges flashing. Stepping inside was a breeze, and of course, their usual FBI playtime was questioned by an approaching cop.

“What are Federal Agents doing investigating a domestic murder?”

“A woman’s blood was sucked dry--that doesn’t sound _federal_ enough to you?”

Dean and Jack showed their badges in complete unison. “Agent Lockwell, this is my partner Agent Olston--”

“ _Heard you at the door_. This way, I guess.”

Dean’s face reeled in slight offense as the officer cut them off and walked away. The two had no choice but to follow, Dean hands finding his pockets as he crossed the floor and made faces to himself, mimicking the cop’s attitude.

They were introduced to Moira’s magic counseling room past drapes of colorful beads. Other than numbered markers littering every drop of blood discovered, it had looked like your basic, new age, witchy type room. If the witch had mercilessly thrown about her furniture and called it “decoration.”

Other than the signs of struggle and pure chaos, they were lead to a circular table, a black sheet with a red symbol in the center. The cop pointed upwards.

“Miss Barley was found strung to the light fixture, upside down and throat slit. Her neck was broken backwards and tied with a chord to hold it perpendicular to the table, I’m guessing over wherever the blood was being collected. Her arms were also slit all the way up the veins, hanging tied above her head. Definitely was murdered first. Whatever blood was spilled here was from the struggle and the few drops that didn’t make it into collection.”

“So the blood was taken…” Jack commented.

“Had to be. There’s not nearly enough here to cover the amount she lost. This was more than just a sick project. Also some of the contents were stolen.”

“Like what?”

“Lots of books, but that’s about as much as we know. Miss Barley’s only relatives have passed on. Neighbors state they saw her coming back from grocery shopping right before we got the call.”

“Thank you, officer, we’ll take it from here.” Dean smiled.

The cop rolled his eyes and exited the room. Dean mirrored the eye roll, then sighed as his fingertips found the red symbol and candles.

“Well, she’s not a hack. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Dean motioned to the setup. “She’s a borrower. A witch that makes deals with demons in exchange for magic.”

“But a hell hound wouldn’t do this.”

“No way. They ain’t this smart. She would’ve been ripped to shreds. I’ll tell you what, some demon is gonna’ be pissed that someone took her before _it_ could.”

Something caught Dean’s eye from across the room. Something burned deep into the wood of the floor. His feet found their way to it, the closer he drew, the more a strange symbol--no, now a group of symbols mashed together all in one circle--showed.

“What is it?” Jack commented, following soon behind.

Nobody probably thought much of it, as the whole room was covered in different symbols and charms, but this looked like a very specific kind of strange.

“Not sure, but I might have an idea.”

Dean pulled his phone out, snapping a picture with a flash.

* * *

 

“Traces of two extra clavicles were attached to her spine… It appears the joints were entirely ripped out, nerves and all. This Jane Doe definitely had wings.”

Cas pulled his hand back from the preserved, dead body. He was tossed a bottle of hand sanitizer by Sam.

“Whoever this is really does know what they’re doing… fairy wings, huh? Not parts, not just ripped off.”

“Surgically removed. With iron tools. Way to neatly burn the pieces out of it. Wonder if the nerves survived the operation.”

“--Are you _cringing_ , Cas?”

“... Well, I happen to have wings.”

Sam gave an understanding nod. After Castiel rubbed his hands in sanitizer, he reached for his buzzing phone and opened a text.

“Dean?”

“Yes, an image.”

Sam leaned over Castiel’s shoulder, who inhaled, then exhaled slowly. That meant something. It always meant something.

“It’s Enochian. A hand-tailored spell.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whoever wrote it is both fluent in Enochian and knowledgeable in angelic magic. I haven’t seen such a complex spell in centuries.”

“You… think we’re dealing with an angel?”

“There’s so few of us, and I know them all by name. I can’t picture any of them doing something like this, but I’ve been wrong in the past.”

“Maybe it’s someone like Lily Sunder? Studied angels, knows a lot about their language and powers.”

“What I don’t get is why the carcasses are just left behind. Whoever this is is a master of monster physiology, but stupid enough to leave heaping piles of evidence behind to draw every local hunter on its tail. If any angel caught wind of this, they’d probably go searching, too.”

“Maybe they’re just arrogant.”

Castiel scoffed. “They’d _have_ to be.”

“We’ve got everything we can here. Let’s meet up with Jack and Dean and--”

Buzz, buzz went the angel’s phone, this time in repetition with Dean Winchester’s name lighting up. Sam peeled his gloves and tossed them in the trash, the two exiting the ward. Castiel answered the call.

“Hello, Dean. We’re just leaving the morgue.”

“ _Great, what’d you get?_ ”

“The perpetrator knew what they were doing, and it was definitely wings that were taken, nerves and all. I had to do a thorough search, and not a trace of them were left other than the gaping holes throughout.”

“ _Fairy?_ ”

“Most likely. As far as the police know, there were zero witnesses of any kind, and still no sign of recognition from anyone.”

“ _Jane Doe in limbo. Well at least the wing-thing is confirmed. Did you get my picture?_ ”

“Yes, I did.”

“ _And?_ ”

“It’s Enochian. Very, _very_ complex Enochian. From what I read, it was a spell specifically for blocking many types of magic. It’s powered with a command that slowly draws from the target’s soul, draining them.”

“ _Well, there were definitely signs of struggle. No abrasions other than slits to the neck and wrist arteries. You thinkin’ this is some sort of vengeful angelic smiting?_ ”

“Sam asked the same thing, and I’m pretty certain it’s not. There were only a handful of angels known to use Enochian magic this in depth and articulate. Most never sought the need.”

“ _Alright, well I got an address for you both. Jack and I have an interview. Heading to her apartment now._ ”

“A witness to the murder?”

“ _More like a close client of Moira. She apparently claims the witch was having visions before her death. Visions about a beast._ ”

“Beast?”

“ _That’s what we’re asking. What are you two doing now?_ ”

“We’re going to check out where our Jane Doe was… slaughtered. See if we can find any more fairy-like signs.”

“ _Sounds good. Let me know if anything comes up._ ”

“Same goes to you. See you soon.”

It ended with a click. Castiel turned to Sam.

“Jack and Dean found a lead. A client of Moira Barley. They're going to ask her some questions.”

“Good, that’s good. Well, to the hospital?”

“To the hospital.”

They walked off, side-by-side, into the green scenery beneath clouded, but calming amounts of sunlight.

If only their peaceful walk had been left without eyes on them, distant and unblinking. From shadows, their every footstep, the patterns of their gate.

Carefully would they be tracked.


	2. Cellar Secrets

“I can’t believe what happened to her… she was a good person, this is  _ awful _ .”

Tristan Hiver, early twenties and trembling sat in her apartment with mascara leaking down her cheeks. Jack reached to one of her many tissue boxes, handing her a slip with gentle, white teeth. She took it and dabbed away the accumulating black down her skin.

“Thank you, agent Olston.”

  
“Were you and Miss Barley very close?”   
  
“She consulted me on a lot of things… not just my love life, but de-stressing, whenever I was having manic depressive attacks… she’d take care of me. There were times I was laid up on her recliner, just trying to put my mind together. She’d talk me through it… work some of her calming mojo.”   
  
Dean, or  _ agent Lockwell _ , spoke up, “Would you say this mojo worked?”   
  
“I know you probably don’t believe, but yes, it did.” She wiped away another escaping tear, “she’d also bring me tea… talk me through it. She was so generous to the people around her.”

“I’m sure she was.” Jack smiled.

“Miss Hiver, we came here to ask about your testimony to the police. About Miss Barley’s visions?”   
  
Tristan looked between them, uncertain and questioning. She leaned in.   
  
“Do… do you actually  _ believe _ ?”   
  
“Well, that depends on what it is. But it helps to know everything, belief or not.”   
  
Tristan hesitated, squeezing the crumpled tissue hard between both palms as she debated spilling. Jack placed his hand over both of her’s with a tender squeeze, forcing her to lock eyes with him.   
  
“It’s okay. Take your time.”   
  
Dean glanced at him, adjusting himself, impressed at the clear hook he just witnessed.

Tristan collected her thoughts, then inhaled.   
  
“Moira was constantly studying her craft. Sometimes she’d use spells to learn about the world in ways books couldn’t teach her.”   
  
“Wanna’ elaborate?” Dean leaned in.   
  
“I don’t know much. Just like psychic things, you know? Looking beyond the veil and all that… but she couldn’t control what she saw. She used a bowl of something or other and look into it. But she couldn’t control what she’d see.”   
  
“You think some of her visions had to do with this.”   
  
Tristan looked over at Dean.   
  
“What did she see?”   
  
She’d paused again, as if trying to string each word of this together without sounding completely crazy.   
  
“Something. A beast curled up in a corner, weeping. It had dark, long hair that was matted, like a mane. W-Wings. The beast was female, or at least female looking. She couldn’t get a good, clear look, but she thinks it might have been laying on it’s side. It also looked locked away. She saw this vision twice… within the past week.”   
  
“Anything else?”   
  
“She saw the outside once. A white house, far away from others. The backyard was filled with red poppies… wild.”   
  
“When was the last vision?”   
  
Tristan’s eyes became red once more. “The night before she was m… murdered…”   
  
“Okay, It’s okay.” Jack pat her shoulder as she Tristan started crying again into her palms. He rubbed her back, looking up at Dean, who was shaking his head.

* * *

 

“ _ This story is only getting more complicated. But at least we got a lead. _ ”   
  
“W-Wait, you said a female-looking beast?” Sam said over the phone, he and Castiel crossing the street.   
  
“ _ Yeah? _ ”   
  
“Lion’s mane, wings.”   
  
“ _ Yes, Sam, explain. _ ”   
  
“Dean, it could be a chimera.”   
  
“ _ What? _ ”   
  
“The tail is left out, but in legend, chimeras are often depicted as female monsters with a lion’s head, a goat’s body and a snake as a tail. It can have wings, it can have multiple heads…”   
  
“ _ But the thing was weeping and curled up. Like it was being caged. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t spell  _ perp  _ to me. _ ”   
  
“... What if the organs being harvested are for the chimera?”   
  
“ _ Hold on a minute, we don’t even know if it  _ is _ a chimera. The girl said Moira’s visions were blurry--barely legible. For all we know it could be another messed up fairy but stored away for leftovers instead of de-winged. _ ”   
  
“Well, as of right now we have zero leads so if you have a better theory, let me know.”   
  
“ _ We’ll look into the chimera thing when we get back to the motel. What’d you find in the forest? _ ”   
  
“Sugar, lots of it. Other than blood stains, that’s about all. No traces of any other creature, specifically angel.”

“ _ No Enochian voodoo? _ ”   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
Dean sighed over the phone, “ _ Jack, you picked a damn strange case. _ ”   
  
“Motel?”   
  
“ _ Motel. See you in a few. Stay safe. _ ”

Sam laughed, “Dean, I’m 36.”   
  
“ _ Bitch. _ ”   
  
“Jerk.”   
  
_ Click. _   
  
“How much of that did you get, Cas?”   
  
“Most of it. Dean is right. This case is… very strange. Mostly the Enochian spells are bothering me.”   
  
“Yeah, I can imagine why. How much do you know about chimeras?”   
  
“Biblically, there is something similar within the Book of Revelation known as ‘ _ The Beast _ ,’ but I don’t believe it’s what he described. Not even close.”

“White house with wild poppies. Think there was a chance Moira was astral projecting?”   
  
“Maybe. It’s times like these I actually thank the internet.”   
  
Sam chuckled at Cas, grinning at the gravel. “Well, I’ll hack the satellites, do some research. See if we find anything in Oregon that’s a white house with poppies.”

* * *

 

Hours had passed to nightfall back at the motel after a long day of research and investigation. Everyone had been relaxing, discussing, and Sam mostly digging as much as he could, buried in his laptop.   
  
“Glad that girl spilled her crazy to the police.” Dean popped another bottle of beer from the fridge, unwinding onto the couch as he toss his suit jacket to the side. “Was worried we’d hit a roadblock for a while.”   
  
Cas pat Jack’s shoulder, sitting side-by-side on a mattress edge. “So? How’d you do today?”   
  
“I think pretty good.”   
  
“More like  _ great _ .” Dean winked over at them, “back at Tristan’s, didn’t know you could be that smooth. Almost had me skip a beat.”   
  
“Well, I learn from the best.” Jack bowed his head, grinning.   
  
“Better step up your game, Cas. He’s beating you by millennium at the lady-killing game.”   
  
Dean paused, waving his hand.   
  
“Not actual killing of… females--”   
  
“--Yes, I’m aware.”   
  
Sam was sitting at the table, typing away on his laptop with eyes scanning about for any little detail he could scrounge together. His intense tapping work ethic was drawing occasional glances. Dean look at Jack and Cas, then went to the fridge to grab a second beer.

“Find anything yet, Sammy?” he tossed it to his brother, Sam catching it with ease.   
  
“Not on the house. Still looking. So far I’ve found similar places, but nothing so far out of civilization.”   
  
“And chimeras?”   
  
“Well, according to the Iliad, they are immortal beings that can breathe and snort fire. In Homer’s depiction, the earliest depiction of the beast, it was defeated with a clump of lead hooked onto a spear that had been exposed to the chimera’s fire. Also, a pegasus shot it from the sky.”   
  
“Great, so if it comes down to killing this thing all we need is a lump of metal and a flying horse.”   
  
“But, we’re also considering the possibility of another fairy with just really long hair. There was no tail in the vision description. Just wings.”

“It kills four fairies but takes one hostage?” Jack looked between them all.   
  
“It also takes siren throats, shifter eyes, witch’s blood, and uses angel magic. Anything is possible at this point.” Dean shrugged, looking into his glass. “Gotta’ admit, this is definitely new. You think Ketch would know somebody like this? He and the Brits have a lot of shady connections.”   
  
Sam sat back in his chair, casually scrolling through the satellite footage with a bored huff. “I’m sure they would have already been on this if it involved the British Men of Letters.”   
  
His eyes then bugged, leaning towards the screen as he zoomed. “Wait, I think I might’ve found something.”

That urged everyone to stand and surround Sam. He began closing in on a white speck from the camera, red and white fading in to look like something grander. There it was, sitting miles out from everything else in the woods, a large, white house with a well-sized field of poppies and nicely treated grasslands to decorate it. The location was remote, but whoever lived there still took great care of it.

“I found old archives of a house ad in 1895. It took deep diving, but I finally found something remotely close. It’s the only house left standing, and the closest mark of civilization is a ghost town.”   
  
Sam pulled up the ad along with a location.   
  
“Blue Reed Falls…” Dean mumbled. “And the satellite is live.”   
  
“You bet.”   
  
“Well, I dunno’ about you but that house looks pretty occupied to me.”   
  
“Agreed. It’s about a six and a half hour drive from Silverton.”   
  
“How many hours outside civilization?”   
  
“Three tops?”   
  
“Easy trip. Worst comes to worst we nap in the ghost town. Say we head out tomorrow? We’ll get some grub and then some shut-eye.” Dean clapped his hands together, going over to his bag--probably to change into something less stiff and more sleeping friendly.

Sam sat back in his seat, writing down the address, and then tapping the pen in thought on the little notebook.   
  
Cas looked over. “What is it?”   
  
“Ah, nothing. It’s just when this all started, I was sure we’d eat through a week or two trying to figure this thing out, but we got such a clear lead within a day. I’m just surprised.”   
  
“Well, the faster we rescue the innocent, the better.”   
  
“Right, and complicated Enochian magic running wild can’t be good. Human and monster.”

“Jack, why don’t you both get comfortable, too?”   
  
Jack nodded, but Sam waved them off.   
  
“Yeah, I’ll just be a couple more minutes. Then we can chow.”   
  
Dean came bursting out of the bathroom, clapping and rubbing his hands excitedly. “Okay! So what are we doing? Going out, staying in, I’m cool with whatever as long as there’s pie.”   
  
“For  _ dinner _ ?”   
  
“For  _ always _ .”   
  
Sam laughed to himself, shaking his head. Suddenly, his backpack was chucked at him full force, almost knocking him out of the chair as he caught it, looking up bewildered at Dean, who closed the distance shortly after.   
  
Sam wasn’t allowed time to process before being yanked out of his chair and shoved towards the bathroom. “Come on, Tarzan, no dilly-dallying! There’s burgers a-cookin’ and pie a-waitin!”   
  
“We haven’t even decided yet!”   
  
“So? Doesn’t mean they aren’t, now hurry it up, get!”   
  
Sam rolled his eyes, vanishing into the bathroom like instructed, not fighting back. Dean folded his arms. Cas looked up at him.   
  
“You know he’s working hard for  _ you _ , Dean. To give you that win.”

“Yeah, I know… guy can’t learn to take a break.”

“Hm. Must be a family trait.”   
  
“ _ Smartass _ .”

Dean stared at the wooden door, silent. He knew what Sammy was doing. Sam always did his best when it came to Dean and Dean’s inner turmoil. He just hoped the guy would stop stressing himself out over it.

* * *

 

The night ended with full stomachs, normal conversation and channel hopping before passing out and rising early the next morning, fully packed and ready to drive six and half hours to the other side of Oregon--where barely anything existed.

“So, do we have a plan for fake-legal trespassing?”   
  
“It’s not legal if it’s trespassing, Dean. It’s just tresspass--”   
  
“--Yeah, okay, whatever, so do we?”   
  
“So the current homeowner's name is Linden Brown, 53 and born in Nashville. She’s a part of several associations in Mt. Hood, Maupin, and Ripplebrook, mostly wildlife and habitat associations. She’s also a part of a botany club in Monmouth.”   
  
“You’re telling me a middle-aged woman drives six hours for  _ flowers _ ?”   
  
“She must travel out for days at a time.”   
  
“What the hell is she living so far out for if she’s that social?”   
  
“Probably to hide her fairy-kidnapping and or chimera hobby.”   
  
Dean started counting one-handed, “So we can’t drive out there for a historic landmark because it’s six hours out with nothing significant around it and that’d be weird slash inconvenient, can’t say we’re a part of any of her associations because we could just call her, and we can’t make  _ on the way _ or  _ in the neighborhood _ excuses.”   
  
“Yeah, I was just thinking we sneak onto the property.”   
  
“We could just say we’re lost and need directions.” Jack poked his head in from the back.   
  
“Yeah? Directions to where?”   
  
“Washington. If we go north of Blue Reed, we’ll eventually hit Kennewick. We can say we were driving cross country from Nevada for a family reunion.”   
  
The car was leaking with being impressed over Jack’s sudden mental upgrade and good development as of late. Dean nodded in approval.   
  
“Alright. I say that’s worth a shot. In that case, Sam, you and Jack take the whole ‘we’re lost’ deal to aunt Linden. Cas and I will check around the property, see if there’s any trap doors, weird happenings. Maybe we can break in a back door and explore the house.”

“We just gotta’ get inside. Sounds good.” Sam concluded.

“Alright, boys. Time to trick a witch.”

* * *

  
Sam was pleasantly surprised to see a working doorbell on the old, vintage house. There had been a long, dirt road leading up to the place with nothing but trees for miles upon miles. The group had parked far off, discussing their plan of invasion and scoping.   
  
While Sam and Jack distracted Miss Brown, Dean and Castiel would sneak onto the property from behind the house. They lucked out, there being only one person on the property and no protective security or fences. Just walking straight onto the property from any direction. Most of the land really did consist of large fields filled with red poppies, only one tree far off in the middle of them all, cleared enough to see the blue sky above. It was hard to believe that Linden Brown, so active in communities far away, took great care of this place, and nobody else, being four to six hours outside of any civilization to speak of.   
  
And so Sam rang that doorbell, letting himself be baffled as the two stood patiently on the porch.

They smiled wide and kind for wherever anybody might be looking at them. Unfortunately, a ashen pink car was in the driveway, so someone had to be home. And that weirdly vintage colored buggy  _ screamed _ owned by someone like Linden Brown.

Eventually there was a hesitant door crack, big, blue eyes poking out from the side. Jack and Sam waved. An older, shorter woman with white hair in curls finally opened the door all of the way. Her face was round and pudge, the type of person who looked like she made cookies just to invoke happiness in children. Someone who probably owned three dogs and ten cats.

Her voice was sheepish and unsure about two men standing at her front door, for obvious, in your face reasons.   
  
“Can I help you?”   
  
“Hi, sorry to bother you. There’s no signal up here and we got lost, so we’re hoping you might have a map or could give us directions?” Sam waved his hands, “we just managed to run into your house and hoped someone would be home.”   
  
“Oh, you poor dears. Of course I have a map. Come in!”   
  
They were internally shocked at how trusting this lady was. It made Sam untrusting. Why was a person who lived so far away trusting of strangers she met for two seconds and letting them into her house? But they couldn’t refuse. Whether she was letting them step right into a trap, they had to go in and distract her for as long as possible.   
  
So they did, stepping inside and taking in the smell of crochet and dusty fabrics. This place couldn’t get any more cat lady stereotype. She was already well on her way to becoming grandma material and she was only in her early fifties.   
  
“Are you boys thirsty? You must have been driving for a long time. Take a seat, let me see if I can find you that map and some water…”   
  
She waddled off into a room nearby the living area. Sam took this moment to scope around the room. No picture frames, just mostly doily decor, soft shades and antique curtains drawn to let the sun in. It made him heavily question who comes out and works on her electricity and mails her the bill. Actually, which county did she pay taxes to?   
  
Maybe people lived closer by than he thought?   
  
Or she was just paranormal herself.

And soon she’d return with two crystal glasses filled with water. Both boys nodded in thanks when she waved them off and gently pulled them to the couch, sitting them both down.   
  
“Please, take a seat.”   
  
She was about to walk off, but Jack spoke up.   
  
“Why don’t you join us? If you’re not in a rush.”   
  
Sam glanced between him and Linden Brown as she whirled to face them, almost expressionless; calculating. A smile broke out on her face, and she found a chair.

“Oh, don’t mind if I do! But aren’t you on your way to somewhere?”   
  
“Kennewick. Family reunion, but that’s not until tomorrow. I need to look at something other than the  _ road _ .” Sam warily took a sip of the water--just a test sip. In case it tasted weird or was poisoned.   
  
“Oh, family reunions! How lovely.”   
  
Jack and Sam both nodded and smiled at this overly bright and chipper woman.

* * *

 

“I’m gonna’ be honest, I’m a little glad Chuck ditched right about now.”   
  
Castiel narrowed his brows, confused at the remark, “Why?”   
  
“You, me, walking through poppy fields like were in some 50s chick flick. Really don’t need this in the next addition of  _ Supernatural. _ ”   
  
Trekking through the abundant collective of scarlet bulbs, sun shining down on them almost perfectly at aunt Linden Brown’s was not how Dean predicted this hunt would go. For all they knew they were just disturbing this poor lady and her life of solitude.

They approached the cleared backyard of the house. There had been a back door, a cellar, and a small shed off to the side.   
  
They split after sharing an agreeing nod. Castiel made his way to the cellar doors protruding from the ground, checking out the iron lock holding it down.   
  
The same went for the shed. Double tied with heavy chains. “Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that auntie needs to do this? What’s she gonna’ deal with, forest burglars?”   
  
“I’ll undo the locks.”   
  
Dean turned to see Cas about to full on grab the iron pieces--probably to straight rip them off. He darted over, quickly grabbing Cas’ shoulder.   
  
“Wait, wait. You do that they might hear.” His hand slinked into his jacket, pulling out a lockpick.   
  
“We do this the old fashion way. You thinkin’ cellar or shed, first?”   
  
“Shed.”   
  
So they made their way. Dean did a quick job on both locks, trying to move them as gently as he could without stirring noise. The door opened with a creek, and they looked behind them, Dean entering first.   
  
Dust kicked up everywhere. Inside was dark, filled with old metal and wooden shelves stocked with boxes of loose items and tools. Dean glanced in one of them as he flipped his lightswitch on, shining lights on the different packages.   
  
“Okay, so Linden is a mechanic or she has some strange art hobbies.”   
  
“Dean,”   
  
He turned to Cas, who was holding something in his hand. Castiel slowly looked up, lifting it towards Dean’s light ray.   
  
Dean’s eyes bugged.   
  
“An angel blade.”   
  
“That’s not yours, is it?”   
  
“It was in that box. Look at the two behind it.”   
  
They walked over. Dean moved more of the tarp Castiel had messed with to find the weapon. There were two labeled boxes of loose tools--and surgical items.

One was labeled iron. The other silver.   
  
Cas looked to Dean. “Cellar?”   
  
“Cellar.”   
  
They hoofed it to their next destination, take a quick peek around as Dean was now on the cellar lock faster than the shed lock. If this lady was the cause, and Moira’s visions were right, then someone or something was trapped in the house for slaughter, if not already dead.   
  
“Sam and Jack are in the house with that woman.” Dean said, hushed, but maybe slightly panicked.   
  
“I’m sure they’ll distract her for now. If anything happens, we’ll know.”   
  
“Don’t be so sure.”   
  
Click. They opened the door and went travelling down concrete steps. Dean flashed a ray into the deepening void of sheer darkness, decorated with spider and cobwebs about the slanting ceiling. Soon they’d reach a hallway with several rooms broken off. This is what the house basement had been divided into, and each room they passed looked to be several storage places.   
  
Cas glanced up at the ceiling and walls. “This place looks sound proofed…”   
  
“Well that’s not good. At least we can shuffle around unnoticed, then.”   
  
Until Dean did a double take with one room. It made him swallow, wishing he had retracted his coy statement with Sam a couple of days ago.   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“Jars, bottles, yadda yadda…”   
  
They stepped in a room filled with pickled items--mostly what appeared to be organs, bottles of blood, and different animal bones, collected and separated per bone. Dean looked to the front of the room, his flashlight hitting something and making it sparkle for a moment. He brought the light back.

It revealed a pair of glittering wings, hung and drying in what smelled like the overwhelming scent of bleach and ammonia. Cas went to take a closer look, fingertips trailing down to the roots of nerve endings and cartridge. He slowly turned back to Dean.   
  
“Fairy. Exactly how they were removed on Jane Doe.”

Both of their chests tightened at the too swift confirmation of this all, then suddenly found their feet pacing in higher speeds back down the hallway, looking room to room, opening doors, but unable to take note of every creepy thing they saw, as their objection was clear and on one thing.   
  
That’s when the echo of chains shackling froze them in place. Still they stood, listening for any other signal.   
  
A small weep could be heard.   
  
“Dean.”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
They were jogging now, finding an iron door at the very end. It had three locks.   
  
Screw it.   
  
“ _ Cas, _ ”   
  
“On it.”   
  
The angel placed his palm on the surface, concentrating when it suddenly burst open, swinging hard into the wall, Dean running into the empty room--

A loud squeal caught his attention to the corner. There, curled up in a corner, wasn’t a beast.   
  
It was a young girl, naked, shaking. She pressed herself into the corner, dirty, bloody cloth tied around her eyes.   
  
She whimpered, her emaciated hands finding the walls.   
  
“ _ M-Mother? _ ” She croaked.


	3. This Is Gospel, For The Fallen One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Graphic surgical scene towards the end!

Moira’s description wasn’t too far off. It was a girl, with long, black hair that looked barely taken care of, but most of her appeared that way, as she was underweight, and not clothed. She had wings on her back, but they didn’t move. They looked broken and rotting.  
  
Her long nails scraped at the walls she pressed against.  
  
“Mother… i-is that you…? Who is it!?”  
  
But she spoke coherently. From what they heard so far, at least.

Dean and Castiel stopped wasting time and rushed over to her, Castiel peeling his coat off and ready to toss it over her nudeness.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay.”  
  
Dean knelt down, but the minute he spoke she started to scream, throwing her arms about and cornering herself further.  
  
“Woah, _woah!_ ”  
  
“Who are you!? Get away! Get _AWAY_ !”  
  
“Calm down, we’re here to help you!”

“That’s what you’re supposed to say! She said you would!”  
  
Cas and Dean exchanged looks as she pulls her knees in, squeezing them close to her chest and quaked from being cornered by them. Castiel slowly knelt down this time, speaking as calming as he could.  
  
“At least let me take a look at your injuries… We aren’t going to move you.”  
  
“I… I don’t have any injuries.”  
  
“Apologies, but your wings are rotting away.” Castiel took his trenchcoat, draping it over her front to cover her. She jolted, and he paused, waiting as the girl began to feel the fabric out, then held it close to her body--probably realizing how warm it was compared to that cold room.

“That’s just because they don’t work yet.” She muttered, rubbing the warmer parts of the fabric to her cheek.  
  
“ _Yet_?” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“W-Who are you? What are you…”  
  
Only more exchanged glances.  
  
“You can’t tell? I thought fairies judged by reading energy.”  
  
The girl paused, tilting her head at Castiel’s comment.  
  
“Fairy? I’m… I’m not… I’m human.”  
  
That confirmation wasn’t what they wanted to hear. Somehow this girl’s situation just became so much worse than first theorized.  
  
“What are you going to do with me? Please don’t hurt mother. Please just leave us alone.”  
  
“Nobody is getting hurt. I just want to take a look at your wings and eyes. That’s all.” Castiel touched her shoulder and she jumped. He gave her a couple of pats in attempt to brush off her worry.  
  
“Mother…” she began to cry again, possibly for the only thing she had. Castiel shushed and reassured, turning her back to face him as gentle as he could. The girl pressed her forehead to the cold wall, attempting to quell her tears even a little.

“It’s okay.” Her matted locks were scooped in one palm swoop and tossed over her shoulder. Dean cringed in slight when her wings came into view. Sewn into her back, stitches clogging all about where they connected, and a large, old scar incision going halfway down her spine. The surgery was clearly becoming a problem, as the skin around it began to turn black and purple.  
  
Castiel placed his hand over the operation, closely examining was no normal human could. He shook his head.  
  
“It’s infected. The wings are sewn deep into her spine. If it starts to spread, it may cause irreversible damage.”  
  
This time, he turned her to face them again, reaching up to her blindfold and peeling it off, ginger with every action he took as to make her not tremble any more than she had been.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinking as they were hazed over, trying to see the two. Once she did, she gasped again, wall hugging, then cringing at the pain of pressure on her infected wounds. The girl held Cas’ coat tighter, eyes welling up with tears.

He pressed his thumb to the dried blood around her lids. Her irises were sky blue, and darted back and forth to size them up.  
  
Flickering past Dean’s flashlight ray.

He huffed. “Shifter eyes.”  
  
“They’re well sealed. There’s scars inside that prove they were surgically inserted, but it’s almost as if she was born with them. Not a flaw otherwise.”

“I take it back. This _is_ like the Frankenstein family.”  
  
The girl had been swallowed in so much fear that she merely swam for words, gazing at them like deer in headlights, or as if she had never seen a man in person before. Castiel moved his hand down to float in front of her throat. He nodded.  
  
“Vocal chords. Siren. Same deal with the eyes.” And now he was patting her forehead. “And she’s feverish.”  
  
“How feverish?”  
  
“One-hundred and two degrees fahrenheit, to be exact.”  
  
“Who are,” she cleared her throat, speaking up, “who are you? How can you tell all of this?”

“Well,” Dean started, “I’m also human, and my friend over here, well, he’s… an angel.”

The girl’s eyes managed to widen even more as she now fixed her gaze on Castiel, fear transforming into sheer surprise.  
  
“Oh no.”  
  
“ _Oh no_ ?”  
  
“You’re here for my mother, you’re going to kill her, you’re going to--”  
  
“Hey, slow down, what are you talking about?”  
  
“ _Because they kicked her out of Heaven!_ ”  
  
Cas and Dean drew back in shock. Dean looked to the angel, who’s eyes were shifting.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
He rose his finger, “your mother--did she fall?”  
  
The girl didn’t respond, just stare at him in terror. It was enough confirmation for Castiel to be struck with realization.  
  
“Complex Enochian magic, chimera-like experimentation, fallen angel.”  
  
“Cas, what is it?”  
  
“Dean, I think I _know_ this angel.”  
  
“ _Do you, now?_ ”  
  
The two shot up and whirled around to see Linden Brown at the doorway, grinning wide. She cracked her knuckles in one hand.

“Step _away_ from my daughter.”

* * *

 

They were now circling the dungeon room, one angel, one supposedly fallen as Dean stood in front of the girl like a shield. He watched them, eyes locked on each other.  
  
“Castiel. How many hundred years has it been?”  
  
“Too many for you to still be alive.”  
  
“You insult me. Yes, my body has been reduced to mortal garbage after _your_ battalion stripped my wings and grace. Should’ve just killed me; it would’ve been smarter.”  
  
“Sorry, _who_ _are you_ ?” Dean chimed in.  
  
“Phoebe. She was in the Angelic Choir and also served as a cleric for our soldiers. One of the best healers in Heaven--and also one of the most dangerous. She was caught performing abhorrent experiments on our own kind and was banished.”

“ _Abhorrent_ ? I was making God’s army greater; mightier, and in turn I’m ordered one holy boot out of the pearly gates!”  
  
“The so called “greater” angels you practiced on were left so mentally broken we had to put them down. Like helpless animals. If it had been up to me I would have _executed_ you on the spot.”  
  
“ _Is that true?_ ”  
  
The girl’s meek and weary voice spoke up, having them all turn to her. Linden, or Phoebe, just beamed brilliantly towards her daughter, unsheathing an angel blade.  
  
“It’s okay, Faeriel. Just give mother a minute to take care of the bad men.”  
  
Castiel turned to Phoebe, angry, angel blade also in his grip.  
  
“What are you doing with her?”  
  
“ _Taking back what you stole from me!_ ” She snapped, voice echoing. She relaxed, grin returning to her rosy cheeks as her fingernail plucked at the angel blade’s tip.

“You see, I’m running out of provisions to fuel my magic. My body is starting to age, and soon enough, I’ll die just like every other human. But Castiel, all I ever wanted this whole time was to be an angel again. To be as _beautiful_ as I once was! But instead I’m reduced to this disgusting, rotting slab of wrinkling meat, and I _hate it!_ ”  
  
She stomped her foot, throwing a tantrum for a being that’s billions of years old.  
  
“So I’m going to take my daughter, my lovely; elegant daughter, and make her so beautiful that she surpasses the divinity of the angels. Once I’m done perfecting her, our souls will merge, and I’ll become beautiful again. _We’ll_ become beautiful!”  
  
“ _M-Mother…_ ”  
  
Castiel was almost shaking with rage, breaking the circle they had been treading and stomping three courageous steps towards Phoebe, pointing at Faeriel. “That is your _daughter_ . Your flesh and blood!”  
  
“And a mother only wants what’s best for her children! I’m making her _better_ !” Phoebe shrugged with a chuckle. “We’re all born with imperfections, after all. Nothing wrong with painting the barn.”  
  
Dean, now certain that this woman was human, decided to switch out his blade for a gun, cocking it and pointing it directly at Phoebe.  
  
“What’d you do with Sam and Jack?”  
  
“What, your terrible decoys? Relax. Just put a sleeping spell on their water. It’s a shame the kid’s hair is short. Faeriel would look better blonde.”  
  
“You _sick bitch._ ”  
  
“Well, look at that rat’s nest! Too thick and wavy to take proper care of, she looks like cousin Itt’s sister.” Phoebe huffed, waving her blade at them dismissively. “Tell you what, you guys stay out of our business, I let your friends go. It’s a fair trade.”

“And let you keep using your kid as a guinea pig? Not a chance.”  
  
“In Hell _or_ Heaven.” Castiel added.  
  
“Mother,” Faeriel starting crying in the background, “you--you’ve been lying to me? This whole time? Please tell me you’re lying now.”  
  
“Fae, That ain’t your mother. Family don’t turn each other into barbie dolls.”  
  
“How _dare_ you talk to her with such familiarity!?” Phoebe raised a hand towards Dean, baring her teeth as she spat out a line of spell phrasing.  
  
They had zero reaction time in room before both being flung into the walls, lacking impact mercy. There were groans as the both got back to their knees.

Phoebe was panting from working herself up so much.  
  
“Now, I’m going to take _my child_ , and I’m going to do what’s _best_ for her! And you two miscreants can keep your noses out of it!”

“Okay, I’m going to tell you how this is gonna’ work.” Dean regained his composure to his feet. “We take Fae, you give us our friends, and then go take a permanent vacation ten feet under.”

He lifted his gun, “here, let me pay your fair.”  
  
“Are you a moron? I’m holding your friends hostage!”  
  
“You’re the moron for thinking we need _you_ to find them. But don’t worry, if it ain’t me that gets you, it sure as hell will be hell hounds.”

Phoebe scoffed. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“You didn’t do much research on human witches, huh? You see, the local sorceress you wrung wasn’t all natural. She borrowed her magic from a demon deal. And you killed her before collection day.”  
  
Phoebe looked stunned, invoking a smirk to stretch on Dean’s face. “For someone who’s so knowledgeable about magic you didn’t stop to check what she was _before_ squeezing her life into a jar? Cas was right. Gotta’ be arrogance.”  
  
“Chances are it’ll want you sooner than later.” Castiel took a step forward.  
  
Phoebe was the one shaking now, a cocktail of negative emotions swirling so fast inside she may as well pop at any moment.  
  
“Ordering me around on my property, insulting me, judging how I parent _my_ offspring! No. You don’t deserve freedom. You deserve punishment. _Divine justice._ ”  
  
Phoebe’s blade dropped to the ground with a clatter, showing her palm to the two. A circle had been carved into it, with a complex string of Enochian symbols.  
  
Just like back at Moira’s.  
  
Dean was just about to pull the trigger when she thrust it forward.  
  
“ **_Gah caosgon oadriax!_ **”

The two found themselves frozen up to their throats and lungs, only able to move in small, struggling increments. This must have been what Phoebe used on the witch, and why she didn’t stop them sooner after finding Fae.  
  
“ **_Oadriax!_ ** ”  
  
They hit their knees at the powerful echo, pressing into the floor. Phoebe casually passed by them, stretching her hand to Fae, who was holding onto Castiel’s jacket for dear life. Now disoriented, unsure what was right and what was wrong. Phoebe was smiling at her daughter until she noticed the girl hugging that dirty thing. Something she shouldn’t even be looking at.  
  
“Give me that.”  
  
Fae pulled the trenchcoat away. Phoebe stomped, ripping it from Fae’s hands.  
  
_BAM_ !  
  
The sound of a palm spinning Fae’s head to the wall resounded in both Castiel and Dean’s ears, laying fresh no matter how many seconds past. The angel grimaced, working even harder to move his lips. He just needed two syllables. Two and he was out of this spell. She must have been drawing magic from that witch’s branded soul.

“This is why I keep you here! These two mongrels show up for a minute and you’re already clinging to them!?”

“I-I’m sorry, mother.”  
  
“Nope. No, that won’t cut it. Sorry, sweetie.”  
  
Phoebe crouched down and pulled a key from her pocket, unlocking the shackle on Fae’s ankle and grabbing the girl with a tight grip. She began dragging Fae away, who was barely picking herself up with how weak she had become.  
  
“Change of plans. We need to finish you sooner than later, but it’s okay. It’ll all be worth it once you’re complete.”  
  
Castiel glared upwards at Phoebe’s back. “ **_Mi--_ ** ”  
  
“ **_Trian alar._ ** ”  
  
Castiel’s lips clamped shut, ripping any attempt he had at breaking the spell from his grasp. Phoebe spun to them.  
  
“Calm down. You’ll see your friends soon. Can’t just put perfectly good bodies to waste.”  
  
“ _Be good and sleep for me._ ”

She mumbled to herself, the sounds resounding inside their consciousness. Coercing them to close their eyes. Even though Castiel never slept, he still felt himself falling into a dark pit.  
  
_Snap_.

* * *

 

“...Jack! Jack!”  
  
Everything became louder and more apparent. The blonde boy opened his eyes, searching, grasping for some form of coherence. There across from him was Sam, securely tied down to what looked like an operation table, but propped at an angle enough to keep him upright.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Jack then shuffled himself, feeling tight, leather straps restraining him across his chest, arms, torso and legs. His wrists and ankles were even tied with rope for extra strength.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“I don’t know. I thought the water was clean, but I guess not.”  
  
“You and I barely drank anything… maybe a sip or two.”  
  
“Maybe that was just enough. I dunno’ how she’d hide something so potent in water, but here we are.”  
  
“Yes… here.”  
  
_Here_ happened to be a dim-lit room, dirty and made of concrete encircled with shelves. In the center was a lamp that looked capable of lighting all of China, suspended over a cleared operation table. Dark, blood stains splashed across it, like some cliche horror film, and they were the experiments waiting to be chopped.

Before any real conclusions could be made, humming could be heard fading in from outside of the door. It bursted open without warning, and with a struggle, the voice of whom they knew as Linden Brown, came rolling in another strapped down subject.  
  
Jack and Sam’s eyes bugged.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“So that’s his name! Wasn’t really paying attention when he was… you know, threatening me. But we’re going to fix that right up!” Phoebe pointed at Sam with excitement, “oh, but that’s not all.”  
  
She was a little too happy leaving the room, and back she came in with yet another. This time, Castiel. She rolled him right next to Dean, directly across the room where Sam and Jack could look at them.  
  
“There! You’re all together. Now, there isn’t much I can scrounge from you all, as my Faeriel is almost complete. But we’ll just have to make due.”  
  
“ _Faeriel?_ ” Sam blinked, befuddled and maybe just a _bit_ apprehensive.

“You’ll meet her soon.”  
  
“ **_Torzu!_ ** ”  
  
Both sleeping subjects gasped awake upon her snap, looking about the room.  
  
“Better. Now, I’ll leave you all to chat while I prepare Faeriel.”  
  
WIth a hum, she left the four of them in that horrid room, door closing with a loud creak. Dean shook the residual lethargic hypnosis on him.  
  
“Are you guys hurt?”  
  
“We’re okay.” Jack answered. Sam added.  
  
“For now--Dean, what the hell happened?”  
  
“Her name is Phoebe, an angel. Fallen, and apparently an old friend of Cas.”  
  
“Exclude the friend part, please. Suggesting such sickens me.” Castiel rolled his eyes, looking over the table he had been strapped down to. He rolled his eyes, there were Enochian protective seals on it--specifically to hold him down.  
  
That and he could smell his table lined with holy oil. Probably for reinforcement. “My garrison was ordered to throw her out of Heaven. Specifically over this type of cruelty.”

“What about the chimera, or fairy, or whatever?”  
  
“Neither.” Dean started shaking, testing how strong the straps and ropes were. Their hands were separated, taking away one avenue of breaking out. He had also been stripped of all of his weapons. That made him roll his eyes. “She’s human, and Phoebe’s _daughter._ ”  
  
“What?” Jack furrowed his brows.  
  
“Yeah, it’s disgusting. Using her own child as an experiment, sewing monster parts to her, then using magic to make them function. Fairy wings, shifter eyes, siren vocal chords, she has all of it.”  
  
Castiel also struggled, but eventually stopped, concluding there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. “And she was very sick. I’m guessing Phoebe is changing out her wings for the new pair we saw in the storage room.”  
  
“Then she intends to merge her soul with Fae’s body and take it for herself. All over looking beautiful again or whatever.”  
  
“Even picked an angelic name. Phoebe’s obsessed with reaching that point again.”  
  
“That’s… that’s awful.”  
  
“It’s okay, Jack.” Castiel nodded assuringly, “we always find a way. We’ll rescue Fae and get out of here.”

“I’m more worried about her trying to devour your grace, Cas.”  
  
“I’ll be fine, Dean. Worst comes to worst, I’ve been graceless before.”  
  
“Yeah, well Fae might need that grace with her condition.”

The humming returned. As the door cracked open, Phoebe came walking in with her daughter in arms, hauling her onto the operation table. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t struggling. In fact, she was barely peeping, even as the large beam of the lamp flicked on over her.  
  
“Fae?” Castiel called. Phoebe pulled over a rolling table with an array of surgical tools to Fae’s side, along with the wings they saw hanging up on the wall, well preserved for this moment. Phoebe slapped a pair of gloves on, adjusting her coat, also with blood stains.  
  
“Oh, she won’t be responding. She’s sedated, but just enough. Don’t want her falling asleep on me.”  
  
Phoebe tested an IV needle, dragging over the setup and inserting the needle into Fae’s arm. She rolled off Castiel's coat from over her shoulder and tossed it to the ground, smiling back at him.  
  
" _Just in case I need an extra rag._ "  
  
“You're going to operate on her... while she’s awake?” Jack barely got out.  
  
“This operation is going into her spine. I need her to react in case I’m doing something wrong. Don’t want to paralyze her.”  
  
“Mo… her…” a tear fell down the side of Fae’s face. Phoebe wiped away the wet stream with care.

“But she’ll feel it. She’ll feel everything.”  
  
“That’s the plan. Perfection comes with a price.”  
  
Jack hadn't even known the girl long enough, but he knew plenty from his family to give one great shake in his restraints, moving the table a tad and showing his teeth. Phoebe merely glanced up at him. He spoke low and menacing.  
  
“Let her go.”  
  
“I will. After the operation.”  
  
“You’re not going to get away with this, Phoebe.” Sam shook his head, blood pumping as the fallen woman reached for a scalpel and incision knife. “You’re just going to dig yourself into a deeper pit.”  
  
“I’ll provide the shovel.” Dean growled.  
  
“Wow, if I had known you were all such a vocal bunch, I would’ve kept your lips sealed.” Phoebe started gathering Fae’s locks and moving them out of the way. “But I think hearing you scream will be more entertaining. Don’t really got music in these sticks. Need something to fill the space, now--”  
  
She took out a small flashlight and let it cross Fae’s eyes several times, checking to see how well the eyes were functioning. More importantly, if they were glittering like she wanted them to. She gave an approving nod, putting the piece away and turning to the rest.  
  
“As for what I’ll do with you all, your devil’s trap tattoos might be useful. I definitely want Blonde Butchy over here’s eyes.” She turned to Sam, “your hair--I can turn it into something nice. It’d make comfortable slippers. I think you all predicted this one, Castiel’s grace. Wow, the unlimited things I could do with _that_ .”  
  
Then, her last focus went on Jack. “And him, I think I’ll just keep him as a backup vessel, in case the thing with Faeriel checks out.”  
  
“Touch him and I’ll kill you.”  
  
“It’s okay, Dean.” Jack calmed himself, holding steady eye contact with Phoebe. “What is it you like about me?”  
  
“Your hair. I’d like to grow it out. It has a nice, honey color. If I kept you in sunlight, I'm sure it'd bleach nicely.”  
  
“What if I offered myself to you? As a prize. Would you stop this?”  
  
Sam startled, speaking quiet and quick. “Jack, what are you doing?”

That gave Phoebe a moment to ponder. A longer consideration than Jack thought his plea bargain would go.  
  
“That does sound nice. But no. I’ll just take you anyway so there’s no point in striking deals.”  
  
Jack sunk. Dean sneered.  
  
“Don’t feel bad, Jack. There’s no reasoning with this old crone. All those wrinkles are getting to her head.”  
  
Phoebe rolled her eyes, carefully taking Fae and turning her to her front. She clamped Fae’s wrists, ankles, torso, and neck down with leather straps. Beneath the table, she pulled out an oval-shaped gag with pre-existing teeth marks imbedded in it already and planted it between Fae’s teeth, tied around her head. Phoebe pulled her own hair back, then put a surgical mask over her face.  
  
The incision knife glittered in her hand. She placed it over a lit lighter to heat the top for a moment.  
  
“I swear to God, you put that down or so help you _from_ me.” Dean gave a good shake in his restraints, but Phoebe ignored him, leaning down towards the scar running down Fae’s back, planting a finger at the nape of her neck.

“No, don’t!” Jack shouted.  
  
In went the first cut, slowly and neatly tearing the flesh in Fae’s back down to the bone. Fae screamed behind her gag, revisiting the searing pain of this operation once more.  
  
“ _Bitch! Let her go!_ ”  
  
Everyone was working to at least tear the restraints at this point. The more Fae screamed, the more urgent they shuffled.  
  
“You’re doing a great job, Faeriel.” Phoebe now also grabbed a needle. With the knife and needle, she began digging in Fae’s flesh to remove each sewn in nerve and bone from the inside.

Soon enough after a lot of snipping, the first wing would be yanked out, quick and clean, and with a sharp scream that could make ears bleed. Without giving Fae a break, she yanked out the next one just as swiftly, with the near-same tortured reaction.

Jack couldn’t bare to look. The horror displayed in front of his eyes like it were an everyday restaurant show. He wanted so badly to break out. To have his grace back. Then at least he could use his useless wings to fly out of this thing. To have the strength to rip these restraints to molecules and decapitate that monster in woman’s skin.  
  
But no matter how hard he shut his eyes, the screams and writhes weren’t getting quieter. It didn’t make the stomach-twisting nausea reverse.  
  
Phoebe pulled over the new set of wings after dumping alcohol over Fae’s open wounds. “We’ll get rid of that infection after I bind these to you. You’re going to love them. I know you will.”

That was when something stopped them all. Something loud.  
  
A powerful howl boomed just outside. A little too close for comfort in this underground Area 51.

The howl rang again, Phoebe stepping back in fear.  
  
Dean looked to her. “Better start running.”

And she was about to do just that, when the door she turned to run out of blew off of its hinges, smacking right into her and tossing her across the room. She just barely pushed it onto the ground, holding her bleeding nose with trembling fear. There it was. She could see it plain as day.  
  
All heard more than one growl, paired with impressive footsteps as they entered through the door.  
  
She looked to the rest of the room in terror.  
  
But Dean only smirked.  
  
“ _Night night_.”  
  
The last things heard were Phoebe’s screams and pleas as she was pinned to the floor. Torn flesh by flesh.  
  
And then, pure quiet. The beasts vanished, leaving her body strewn about in shreds on the floor. Like karma just couldn’t get enough of her.  
  
“Well, that settled that.”  
  
Castiel sighed with relief. “Now we just have to get out of these restraints.”

Jack finally turned back around, staring at the barely audible squeaks and pleas from the victim, not even coherent enough to understand yet all that had happened.  
  
“Fae?” he called to her. “Fae, we’re going to help, just hang on.”  
  
Every light in the room flickered, causing all to gaze upward. A consistent flickering by each piece of light provided.  
  
“Didn’t the hell hounds leave?”  
  
“They did.” Cas answered Dean.  
  
The bounds on them began to rumble, then release, unlocking them all. Even the ropes untied all in that moment, and the four were able to step out out of the plates. Some were looking at themselves, and then to everywhere else to try and make sense of what was happening.  
  
Even the restraints on Fae snapped off, her gag falling to the floor as she coughed.  
  
The moment Jack was released he and Sam went sprinting to the table. Jack took her hand whispering words of comfort for both Fae and himself. Sam found gaus underneath the table with the other medical supplies, carefully removing her IV and wrapping up her arm. There was blood all over her back with the incisions were made. Castiel grabbed his trenchcoat from the floor and covered at least her backside from everyone’s view with it.

“Cas, how much of this can you fix?” Sam, going for the needle and stitches, may as well have asked.  
  
“All of this damage will take time. I can do enough for now to safely transport her out of here.”  
  
“Well, don’t wait on us!” Dean rushed, flickering lights still blinking about.  
  
Castiel got in between everyone and started working his angelic healing. In solitude, everyone else was left standing there.  
  
The lights finally returned to normal.


	4. Reconnaissance and Recovery

The ride back to Lebanon was already long enough, but extending the trip to even more stops was necessary, even if what could have been split into two days became three. Fae’s state and sickness left her in almost a life-threatening position that required regular treatments; treatments and rest that simply couldn’t be provided in the Impala.

The process went as such. Drive as much as they could, Fae’s fever spiking, stop at a motel, heal her wounds and illness, back on the road. Wash, rinse, repeat. Only a few hours in to escaping dead civilization did she come down from her high, but instead of screams, ravings and thrashing about like they had expected, she didn’t say a word.

Almost like a rag doll, expressionless, she’d move as she was told and wouldn’t resist anything they asked of her. Broken minded and brokenhearted.

There had been the occasional attempt to coerce her into talking. The girl, despite a victim of the Rapunzel effect, was clearly intelligent. Castiel managed to get Fae to write down her basics for him--so they at least knew  _ something _ about her.    
  
She was eighteen; date of birth was January 3rd. She didn’t have a last name, not even knowing her mother’s fake name was  _ Linden Brown _ . All of these things were necessary in case the whole divine treatment didn’t work and checking her into the hospital was a singular option.   
  
“Have you ever left that house?”   
  
Fae paused, but her hand moved over the paper.   
  
“ _ No, _ ” was all she wrote.   
  
Other than that, no response. Not a peep. Just the occasional tear rolling down her cheeks, and lots of private discussion on what they should do with her.

They finally arrived at their bunker, ready to crash and take a few days off. For once, the Men of Letters' bunker felt like home-sweet-home. Dean stretched as all were about to scatter.   
  
“I need a beer.”   
  
“Ditto.” Added Sam. Dean turned around and looked at him in momentary disgust. Sam's eyes shifted.   
  
“ _ What _ ?”   
  
“ _Ditto?_ ”   
  
Castiel held Fae by the arm, walking her in. She finally was to a point where she could actually cross floors without her knees giving way. The angel looked to his friends.   
  
“We need to get her a room. And some clothes.”   
  
Jack was already on it, rushing off to his room to scrounge something up.   
  
Fae sniffled, rubbing her eyes with Castiel’s coat sleeve. He bent over to look at her face.   
  
“Just a bit longer. We’re going to get you showered and rested.” His hand found her back, rubbing and patting it. Fae hadn’t gotten tired of shedding tears, and no one blamed her. Her whole world had been thrown upside-down.   
  
It wasn’t long before Jack returned, a folded t-shirt and pajama pants in his hands. He passed them off to Fae, taking her arms and having her hold the pieces of clothing close so that she wouldn’t drop them.   
  
“Here, I’ll take you to a room.”   
  
As Jack lead her away, Castiel looked at the remaining two, then followed behind.

That night, Castiel stood guard in her room, reading to kill the time on current events and things he still needed to learn about today’s culture. Normal books, fiction--but he couldn’t leave Fae alone, even while she slept. She was in such a physically destroyed condition that being monitored was a necessity.

Also her inability to rest for too long without waking in terror set him on edge. The next process went as such. Castiel watches her, charges enough to do more in depth cleansing (in increments), she gets nightmares, he helps her sleep. But her recent trauma and confusion seemed to even surpass his angelic coercion for rest.

All of these things, including her inability to keep too much food down for long, made the transition into the next evening feel twice as long. At that time, Cas was doing his final healing run on her incisions, closing them for good. Sam and Dean stood in the lobby as Jack shuffled a rubix cube nervously at the table. Just something to distract him. This whole thing making him antsy.

Sam leaned against a wall, looking to Jack, then back to Dean, arms folded.

“You think he’s gonna’ be okay?”   
  
“I don’t think Jack expected to witness what he had when he picked this case. But he’s a strong kid. He’ll pull through. He just cares a lot.”   
  
“Yeah. Earlier he brought her some water. Accidentally walked in on one of her twilight freakouts. I think it set him on edge.”   
  
Dean shook his head. “Poor kid.”

“The question is, what are we gonna’ do with her from now on? And what the hell happened back in Phoebe’s lab? I mean we heard those hell hounds leave--and they don’t just  _ unshackle _ people.”

“I know. I’ve also got a whole rainbow of questions, and Cas has been sticking to her like glue. As for what we’ll do, just keep an eye on her. Once she starts recovering, we go from there.”   
  
Sam nodded at that. They could tell who’s footsteps were fading in from the hallway--Castiel, showing his face for the first time in a few hours.

“Hey, Dr. Recluse, welcome to the land of the living.”   
  
“Very funny, Dean.”   
  
“I know. How’s she doing?”   
  
“Progress report? Much better. I was afraid there’d be some irreparable things, and there  _ are _ health complications I’m slightly concerned about.”   
  
“Like?”   
  
Castiel exhaled, preparing to admit some awkward things. “Well, she’s been consistently starved. Her emaciation has stunted her pubescent growth, and well, she’s already eighteen, so it’s a _problem_.” clearly mentally stressed out from the 24-hour watch he provided, he actually rubbed his temple. “There’s also things like nerve damage, overworked adrenal glands, symptoms of bulimia, tubal ligation--”   
  
“Hold on. She has her _ tubes tied _ ?”   
  
“Yes, which was  _ also _ infected, so I had to go in and undo  _ that _ . It’s all just been a slow process. I’m betting two weeks tops at normal, physical recovery.”

“Has she spoken at all? Even a little bit?”   
  
Castiel met Sam’s eyes, then shook his head. “Still the same.”   
  
“Well, maybe she needs a woman to talk to her. Like Jody, or Rowena.”   
  
“I don’t think Jody needs any more responsibility. Her house is turning into a lodge for wayward girls.” Dean scratched the back of his head, “also you think  _ Rowena _ would be a good role model?”

“Cas said two weeks tops to recovery, and if her hormones are stunted, that means, well…”   
  
Sam and Castiel seemed to share a mutual silence. Dean, out of the loop, stuck his foot in the door, clearly not finding this topic obvious.   
  
“Well,  _ what _ ?”   
  
Sam shrugged, voice lowering as if he were speaking on taboo, “she’s going to have  _ female issues _ . You know, possibly  _ bad periods _ ? If she even knows what a period  _ is _ ?”   
  
Dean scoffed, “seriously? You’ve lived with a woman, I’ve lived with a woman, we’ve both had relationships with women.”   
  
“I don’t have a problem with it.”   
  
“You think  _ I _ do?”   
  
“You get squeamish.”   
  
Dean laughed in disbelief, folding his arms in complete denial. “No I don’t.”   
  
“Dean, when we were discussing buying her underwear and shampoo, you got up and left saying “ _ nope, nope _ ” in steady repetition.”   
  
Cas gave Dean a knowing look. “You  _ are _ a bit awkward when it comes to… feminine things.”   
  
Being called awkward by Castiel of all people was close to an insult towards Dean’s ego. As a manly man. As a  _ human being _ .

“The point is, this will be like raising her from square one. I just think it’s smarter to send her to someone who’ll understand her better. Someone she can talk about her issues with, brush her hair, buy her things she needs.”   
  
“Sammy, you saw what happened back there. Jody and Donna already got their hands full in Sioux Falls, I’m not about to throw what’s possibly a broken psychic in their arms when we don’t even know anything.”   
  
Castiel looked over, “you really think she’s psychic?”   
  
“Either that or some ghost is on her shoulder cause that breakout isn’t explainable yet.”   
  
“Yeah, Dean is right. We might just need to wait it out and make a decision later. For now, her recovery is priority. Cas, how is she now?”   
  
“She’s awake, she’s just sitting up--spacing out. I tried to get her to write more, but nothing.”   
  
The trio fell quiet, eyes gazing at the floor tiles.   
  
“ _ Who could do something so monstrous? _ ”   
  
All heads turned to Jack, he tilted his rubix cube in the light.   
  
“Well, they’re called monsters for a reason.” Dean started off, the three of them now making their way to the table and pulling up chairs. Dean and Sam across from Jack, Castiel next to Jack. One of their many sit downs.

“But we got her out. Jack, if you hadn’t convinced us to go on this hunt, she’d be worse off or dead right about now.”   
  
Castiel pat Jack’s shoulder. “You  _ saved _ her. Be proud of yourself.”   
  
Jack absorbed all of their smiles filled with encouragement, slowly nodding. In decision, he put down his rubix cube.   
  
“I’m going to try and talk to her.”   
  
“Jack, there’s no guarantee she’ll respond at this point in time.”   
  
“I know. I’m not getting my hopes up. I’d just like to see her.”   
  
Castiel nodded, “alright. Go ahead.”   
  
With Jack’s satisfied beaming, he got up and left them right then, taking his rubix cube with him.

The three were left in solitude to none than each other. Heavy sighs said it all about the stress and the singular hopes they were able to hold onto.

* * *

 

It was no surprise to Jack when he walked in. There she was, curled up into a tight ball against her bedpost, fitting into a small corner she paved for herself on the bed and blanking out. She hadn’t even reacted to Jack entering and proceeded to lack acknowledgement when he sat beside her--careful not to startle.

He waited before he spoke, thinking deep about what to say--maybe overthinking--it had been his first time really consulting someone; and in such a serious predicament, too. The rug had been ripped entirely out from under Fae, but he needed to make her aware that she was safe. That it was all going to be okay in the end.

After all, Jack himself was told he’d be like his biological father, but he proved that heavy-weighted destiny wrong. A smile spread on his face, tossing the colored block between his fingertips.

“You know, I know this probably isn’t the best thing to open up with. I’m still very awkward and learning how to interact with people. I don’t understand a lot of things you may be feeling right now, but I lost my mother, too. And my father.”   
  
He gazed up at the spinning ceiling fan. “... and my father, well, he was a fallen angel.”   
  
Fae blinked. That statement managed to draw her attention. Jack showed her that smile he always had. The innocent one full of confidence no matter what he said or did. There--he actually managed to hook her. Now to keep her on the line.   
  
“Actually, he was the most famous one, but we won’t get into that. Sam and Dean--the really tall guys also lost their parents. And Castiel’s Father left without warning. Twice.”

“I know everything must be upside down. But you _can_ let your confusing feelings out. Talk them through. I found writing what I was thinking helped me figure a lot of complex emotions out. Figure _myself_ out.”

“But you’re not alone here. I know it feels like it, and you’re going through a lot. I just wanted to tell you that if I had known sooner, I would have been there sooner. That’s a promise.”   
  
He expected her to get mad, maybe say something along the lines of “you don’t understand one thing about me,” but instead of acting in emotional rage or getting offended, Fae listened carefully, absorbing every word that he said and nodding just a fraction in understanding. In a very peacemaking manner. Maybe acting out in rage just wasn’t in her personality.   
  
He passed the rubix cube over to her. She looked at it for a moment, then took it into her hands, gazing at every side with enough intrigue to make Jack feel accomplished.

“It’s called a rubix cube. It’s a puzzle. You have to spin it until all of the colors match on each side.”

Fae gave Jack a hesitant look, then slowly started to twist it. Not trying to solve it, just occupying her hands over the brand new toy she discovered.

  
Jack watched, about to get up.

“ _\--She lied to me._ ”   
  
He froze, slowly sitting back down and smile leaving his face. Surprised she was actually talking. Her voice had been hoarse, most likely from screaming and crying the past couple of days. But despite her meek; soft tone, she really did her best.

“About everything. I trusted her on everything.” Another tear went down her cheek, but she sniffed and wiped it away with her sleeve--or more like Jack’s sleeve. “And now I’m so confused.  _ So _ confused… there are many things in this room alone I can’t put names to. Like I’m in a different world, and it hurts.”

He watched as she gripped onto one of the front locks of her hair, holding tight. “Everything hurts. I don’t understand anything. I don’t know where I am or what I’m supposed to be anymore… what’s true and what’s not…”   
  
She looked up at Jack, irises flickering as they moved, welled up in red. “ _ I don’t know what to do. _ ”   
  
Jack slid his hand on top of hers’, removing her grip from her hair and lowering it back to the bed. He gathered his thoughts.   
  
“The truth is things are new to me, too. I’m a Nephilim, but I was born differently than others. I was born as a baby, but within the hour… I grew into this body.”   
  
Fae double blinked as he continued.   
  
“I was able to speak; able to read.”   
  
“Why did that happen?”   
  
He shrugged, “I’m not sure. I could hear my mother’s thoughts in the womb… she said I needed to be like this. But even though I could speak and read, I didn’t know anything about the world. Everything was in its most basic concept. And I’ve only been alive for a year and a half.”

“We’ll get through it together.” He nodded, “I’m still learning, but I’ll answer any questions you have. They will, too.” Then, a light flickered on, “do you like books?”   
  
Fae nodded quickly. She was able to speak and write without problem, so she must’ve been reading at least while locked up.   
  
“Well, there’s a lot of them here. And if you don’t know what something is, point to it and I’ll tell you. We can even put sticky notes.”   
  
“Sticky… notes…?”   
  
“I’ll show you later.” he pat her back. “It’s hard now, but you’ll understand things soon. You’re very smart and very kind. I can tell.”   
  
She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the tears.   
  
“How about I get you some books now? Maybe a notebook to write in. Take your mind off of things.” Jack got up, “what do you want to read about? What were your favorite books?”   
  
Fae thought for a moment. She liked any book she could get her hands on, really, but right now she was most interested in the culture surrounding her. “Maybe… history? About… wherever we are… a map…”   
  
“Map and history. Got it. I’ll be right back.”   
  
He exited the room, but almost with a skip in his step at this accomplishment. Fae was left to the rubix cube, going back to twisting and turning the blocks.

* * *

 

Jack sped out, fingertips scanning through the archives and their contents, traveling to find Fae’s desired topics. He already found a couple, but not enough so far. And everything the Men of Letters’ owned were about the supernatural or based on it.   
  
The three, still outside, had turned around at his rushing. Dean slowly rose from his seat.   
  
“Hey, kid, what’s up?”   
  
“Getting books for Fae.”   
  
“ _ For Fae _ ?” Sam echoed. Jack turned around on his heel, big grin on his face with a single nod.   
  
“She said she likes to read.”   
  
“You mean she  _ wrote _ .”   
  
“No--said. But it looks like we don’t have a lot here of what she wants. Cas, is it okay if we go out and get some newspapers? Are there any bookstores nearby?”   
  
“Wait, wait, you got her to  _ speak _ ?” Dean lifted a hand, trying to piece everything together. Jack only nodded again.   
  
The three shared expressions of disbelief, but also in clear awe. “Jack, that’s fantastic.”   
  
Castiel took a step forward. “A miracle, actually. What else did she say?”   
  
“She said she was confused, and that nothing made sense to her. I think she’s struggling with what’s real and what’s not. Who to trust. She said she likes to read, so I’m getting her information and bringing her up to speed on everything. I told her about us and our parents and bouts with loss to help her feel at ease--I hope you don’t mind.”   
  
“No, that’s great, Jack. You did the right thing.”   
  
“He gets more impressive by the day,” Dean grabbed his beer, tilting it towards Jack with a coy smirk, “first the Tristan girl and now Fae. Soon you might be as smooth as me.”   
  
Sam rolled his eyes, all of Dean’s terrible pickup lines running through his head.   
  
Dean smirked, “so, she hooked or what? Are we gonna’ have a couple of little lovebirds?” he jokingly elbowed Castiel’s arm.   
  
But Jack shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. Nowhere near. She just needs a lot of help.” He nodded in confidence. “Honestly, after talking with her… I think if I ever had a sister, it’d be something like Fae.”   
  
His three dads smiled at the notion. Castiel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder.   
  
“Let’s go get those newspapers. It might be too soon to show her a computer.”   
  
“I’ll see if she wants to eat anything.” Sam looked at his watch, “it’s been a few hours since.”   
  
Sam left the three as everyone went to scatter. He passed Fae’s room, whose door was open, and retracted a few steps. Sitting there in the corner, she decided to smile and wave when she looked up. She hesitated, but waved back--looking down at the rubix cube in her hands.   
  
It was still unsolved. From the looks of it, even more of a mess than when Jack had it. She probably had no idea how to operate the thing. Sam continued down the hall. Maybe when he got Fae her meal he’d show her. It could be a gateway to some sort of trust and bond.

As he vanished down the hall, the lights in Fae’s room blinked in an out, finally stabilizing after a couple of moments.   
  
She gazed up, feeling a chill brush her back.   
  
Fae only pulled her legs in tighter, returning to her rubix cube.


End file.
